I’ve been watching a lot of documentaries lately.

There’s not much better going on during shelter in place.

I figure I’ll expand my knowledge of history by watching documentaries.

I watched a documentary on the House of Windsor.

Did you know that George V and Nicholas II the Czar of Russia were cousins?

However, George V denied amnesty to his cousin during the revolution in Russia due to anti-royal sentiment in Great Britain, thereby setting the stage for the sad demise of the Russian royal family.

And speaking of sad demises, it’s really hard to watch any reenactment of the Princess Diana and Prince Charles “love” story which starts out lovely – a beautiful girl becoming a Princess at age 19, and ends dreadfully, in a car crash in Paris at the young age of 36.

My mom asked me what lesson I’ve learned from watching documentaries and my first piece of advice was:

Don’t marry someone you don’t know.

I know a few successful marriages that started out this way – with engagement and marriage occurring mere weeks after meeting, but that’s the exception to the rule.

I don’t need to worry about this however.

I realize marriage is a far off notion for me and I’m better off single and independent, living my life exactly as I want.

So that’s my takeaway from studying the House of Windsor.

It may seem romantic to live the life of a royal but the realities are much less ideal than one might imagine.

Love Language

‘Tis the season. . .

. . . for a motherload of marketing emails.

Everyone has something to sell me this holiday season.


Because of this, I find the incessant stream of store emails incredibly annoying and I am taking the time to unsubscribe from the grievous offenders.

I estimate I’m getting about 1,000 emails a day, from all sorts of companies trying to sell me stuff.

I have a friend Joe, who doesn’t participate in gift exchanges.

He thinks they’re too commercial and encourage spending money on things that aren’t really necessary.

This is true.

My dad doesn’t need a coffee maker and my mom doesn’t need more wine, but I can’t help myself.

I love gifting.

It’s my love language, or something silly like that.

Nevertheless, all these emails are turning me into a Scrooge.

I can only hope that the emails will slow down once Cyber Monday is over with.


Every now and then I wonder about my strange and unusual background.

HAI workshops.



Burning Man.

Lots of fringe activities, exploring self and relationships with others.

I don’t often talk about it on this blog because it’s hard to put into words what it feels like to probe the edges of myself and explore the depths of my identity.

But that’s the task I was faced with yesterday after conversing with an old friend, who just so happens to be Swedish.

I am forced to admit that all these things I’ve done suddenly made more sense to me.

Even learning the Swedish language to impress a man who is now married to someone else.

Instead of feeling like a collection of failed hobbies, I feel like a whole and complete woman.



Ready to take on the challenges before me and see what lies ahead.

Bring it on.

Red Hot Mama

I’ve had this idea.

But it’s a little morbid so bear with me.

For my funeral, instead of hosting a funeral I want my family to host a party.

Because that’s the best way I can think of celebrating my life.

With a final red-themed party.

I want them to send out red invitations in red envelopes  to Michelle’s Red Hot Mama party.

However old I am when I pass.

We’re gonna call it a Red Hot Mama party and it’ll take place at Burning Man where they can take my pictures to the temple and celebrate my life.

The way I would.

With song and dance.

Food and drink.

And I’m writing it here, just because I need to write it SOMEWHERE that I want my kids to be there.

Yes, at Burning Man.

My final gift to them.

A trip to the Black Rock Desert during August and September to celebrate their mom’s life in the place that meant the most to me.

Nice, eh?

Black Friday

It’s Black Friday.

I should be shopping but since I pretty much bought all my presents online I’m watching The Crown on Netflix and eating Thanksgiving leftovers.

The Crown is a dramatization of the life of Queen Elizabeth of England.

I’ve just gotten up to the part where Princess Diana makes an appearance.

It’s honestly hard to watch, knowing how things ended for this poor woman.

I remember when she and Prince Charles got married.

I watched from my grandmother’s living room floor as we crowded into her tiny home in Small Town, Pennsylvania to watch the wedding.

Such hope and promise.

I hadn’t anticipated this much emotion surrounding Princess Diana.

I am neither British, nor am I a fan of the royal family.

I feel profound sadness when I’m reminded of her untimely death.

We could use more of the kindness and philanthropy she brought into the world.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m so excited that it’s Thanksgiving.

I’m going to my brother’s house and we’re going to celebrate Thanksgiving outside on his patio.

It’s not the greatest option for a meal, but it works for us.

So from my family to yours, wishing you a happy Thanksgiving!

Beards, Tattoos and Dad Bods

I saw this on Tik Tok and fell in love with it INSTANTLY:

Of course, I drive a truck and slapping this decal on my truck might send a message that I look favorably upon men with dad bods, tattoos and beards.

And that would be an appropriate perception.

Because you all know how much I love all those things all rolled into one package.

Give me a handsome, middle aged man with a beard and tattoos and I’m one happy girl!

Saying I love you

I say I love you all the time.

To my family.

My kids.

My friends.

I have to say, as far as saying I love you goes I’m in for a penny, in for a pound.

I have no problem saying it when I feel it.

I’ve noticed however, that there are two times when people say I love you when you should be suspicious.


They say it during The Act.

Everyone knows hormones enhance the urge to bond and say whatever comes in our brain.

Sometimes it’s kink.

Sometimes it’s romance.


They say it when drunk.

I have experience with this too.

Both saying it to others and having others say it to me when we’re a few drinks past good taste.

I love EVERYBODY when I’m tipsy.

And lately, drunk men have been coming out of the woodwork to claim their affection for me.

One texted it over Kik, and don’t think I wasn’t amused by that.

And another said it during a party.

And the third guy just spouted it out one night, while drinking with his pals.

And you know, even when people say it and I know it’s fleeting, I still get a secret little thrill from it.

Wouldn’t you?

Gifting at Christmas

My 90 year old dad is blind, but exactly how blind is usually hard to tell because he functions very well.

The other day however, a circuit blew and the lights in the kitchen turned off suddenly right before dinner time.

My mom and I tried to fix them but figured out pretty quickly that we needed a new fuse.

I shrugged, and suggested that we use my camping lanterns and not tell my dad.

My dad stresses over these things and asks a bazillion questions and issues even more directives, making what would be a tedious task into a torturous job.

I was curious, would he realize we were eating in dim light?

The answer of course, is no.

He had no idea.

So when it came time for me to pick a Christmas present for him, I decided to get him a one-touch Keurig coffee maker.

Seeing him fumble around for a cup and try to fill it with water without missing or spilling before he even adds his coffee grounds or sugar made me stop and think.

He could really use an automatic Keurig.

Put the mug in place, put the coffee pod in place, push one button, and voila. . . coffee!

Today it arrived in the mail, with K-E-U-R-I-G in big letters on the box.

My mom took one look at it and knew what it was for.

And for once, instead of chastising me for spending money, she congratulated me on getting the perfect gift for my father.

This is why I love gifting at Christmas.

Hunky Guys

I’ve been noticing lately there’s a lot more hunky guys lurking about.

First of all, I was talking to Tejas about a mutual friend with a “hunky son.”

We both laughed at that characterization.

Then I’m on Facebook, and in the “You Might Know. . .” section, there’s a whole bunch of hunky guys.

Men who know LITERALLY 50 of my friends.

How it’s possible to share 50 friends with someone and not have met them, I’ll never understand.

But there you have it.

I’m surrounded by hunky men.

Which probably means my hormones are out of whack or something similar.

Just between you and I, I did feel so strongly attracted to one fella, I added him as a friend.

And he added me back!

Also, it’s rumored that I am sorta kinda on the down low seeing a hunky guy occasionally, so THERE’S THAT!

I’m flush with hunks, at least on paper.

And a little IN THE FLESH!

P.S.  I’m loathe to use the term hunky because the last time I called a guy a hunk he pulled a Napoleon Bonaparte on me (he went into action without proper coverage, if you catch my drift).

Sorry to my French friends.